The Closed Doors

by Pauline Albanese

I chose you because you’re an orchard of ripe fruits, and I want to lay my sufferings in the shadows of your arms, of your belly. I chose you because your tears remind me of September rain. Because of the sun I see in your pupils. You cannot run now, can you? You have found your home. Do you feel the darkness in the hollow of your plexus? Don’t you understand? Your darkness was your secret, and she whispers to mine.

They can’t understand the power of endurance, the reality of patience, of darkness, of silence, the huge greatness of a body which comes back to earth and mingles with world dust. I alone, I Death, am unavoidable. I alone am almighty. Not love. Not Spring. Not light.

They can’t understand that they rule over an instant and I rule over forever.

Tell them that you weren’t hungry, tell them you followed the pomegranates seeds because they tasted like blood, like love.

That you wanted to escape your body and the light because darkness held you by the belly and by the heart.

Tell them you chose to come.